Riding in an endless stream of traffic, the motorcycle stops at a light on a corner of the broad, grandiose avenue lined with palms and sycamores, and glancing upwards for the umpteenth time at the massive, castellated building on the corner you like so much, with its baroque turrets and faux masonry paneled walls, you focus on a window and notice a slim, dark figure looking through the translucent curtains.

The curtains swish and for a moment you catch a glimpse of a woman in an evening dress, with her hair tied back, and something white around her neck, which you guess to be a necklace of large, south sea pearls. You can almost hear a piano playing softly in the background as she gets ready for a night out on the town, delighting someone with her company.

The light turns green and as you roll away, your mind flies and you imagine you already know her, that she has flown in from your past, and that you will finally see her again …

* * *

October had been kind to the countryside, and in the last days of a dying Indian summer it was glorious to take long drives on the bluegrass back roads along the river. The oak and maple tree leaves glowed with the red, yellow and orange colors of autumn, and in the passenger seat, was her patient, poised self, making conversation and bracing for the turns, to the sound of White Zombie's More Human Than Human, in the car stereo.

“Don’t worry, we’re still on the road,” you said, chuckling to yourself at how she always had the same reaction.

The dinner party wouldn’t begin until eight or so, but she was so delectable in the cobalt blue, raw silk evening dress making her gray-blue eyes stand out, that it was nice to be early and enjoy the sunset over the river together.

The party was at a restaurant on the river. Formerly a tavern, it was the typical colonial style building from the area, with views over the enormous river. In a recent renovation the architect had restyled the place as a Scandinavian lodge, with tall, vaulted ceilings and a massive timber structure over a stone chimney with a round fireplace as the centerpiece of the main dining room.

Parking near the marina behind the main building, you scurried around the car to open the door for her in true footman style with a hint of a smile on the corner of your lips as she carefully lifted her long, slender limbs out of the low slung car, one after the other, and rose in all her iris scented glory as her smooth, auburn hair cascaded over her bare shoulders. Without a trace of makeup on her face, she was engrossingly pretty.

“Are we ready?” you asked patiently, although after a long day at work you were really craving a drink.

“Yes,” she smiled. And as you began walking towards the lodge together, she stopped dead in her tracks and spun around saying softly, “my bag.”

Leaving her there, you ran back to the car and, sure enough, the little black bag with the hard leather hoops for handles was still sitting in the cramped rear seat, looking forlorn and forgotten. Fetching it, you ran back to her and as you handed it gently to its owner, you watched her put her arm through the hoops almost in slow motion, in her own regally patient style that almost made you want her to forget the bag all over again.

In the restaurant, some of the guests had already arrived but not recognizing anyone, you looked through the huge dining room windows at the sprawling wooden deck over the river and walked out together to the bar, where you ordered that much needed drink of Woodford Reserve while she decided what she would like to have.

Glancing at your watch, the hands and numbers were blurry from your trembling, and your stomach was jumping in all directions, but you felt comfortingly warm inside because she was there.